


Of Heart(h) and Home

by Scarecrowqueen



Series: Whatever Ever You Want [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: A Giant Rabbit's inappropriate thoughts, Bunny's a typical bachelor, Domestic Fluff, Flirting, Jack in an apron, Jack's a fantastic cook, Kink Meme, Laundry is a little naughty, M/M, North gives the best advice, The dishes are evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarecrowqueen/pseuds/Scarecrowqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aster blinked. Then blinked again. A third blink however, did nothing to dispel the dish-washing mirage that had taken up residence in his kitchen. He was tempted to back out and try opening the door again to see if that worked when the mirage turned around and smile a brilliant ivory smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I found something that was always there

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the ROTG Kink Meme:
> 
> A funny bit of rabbit trivia that popped into my mind one time:  
> With wild rabbits, it's the female rabbits, does, who do all the digging and other maintenance work on the burrows.
> 
> So... Aster, the lone bachelor that he is, has sorta let his warren go. The gardens and the things needed for the Easter preparations are in perfect order, but the actual living quarters are a mess. Jack, having been raised in a day and age when children were expected to pitch in on the household chores from early on can't ignore it. So he sets about tidying the place up for the organizationally challenged kangaroo.
> 
> But, in a pooka warren having a doe take up interest in some lone buck's burrow usually means that she intends to share it, so Jack puttering about his very personal space, dusting and re-arranging, is hitting Bunny hard in some instinct that says: "Hey, look! Something young and pretty looking for a nest to share? Don't let him get away!"
> 
> Intellectually, Bunny knows Jack doesn't mean it that way, but that does little to curb the way watching Jack makes other things they could be doing in that burrow creep into his mind.

The first time Aster found Jack in his home he was coming back in from a long, long day out on the Warren. Despite the aid he’d received from all the other Guardians in setting his home to rights after Pitch’s attack on Easter, he was still far behind in production. Well, he was almost back to where he should have been for early fall, but he was bound and determined to make next Easter the biggest and best ever seen, so by his new, improved standards he still had a long, long way to go. 

Aster paused at the gate to his humble burrow; the home carved Hobbit-style into the side of a hill, with the main living quarters just below ground level and his sleeping chambers further below that. Once, the sleeping chambers had consisted of several clusters “rooms,” designed to hold several litters of children at a time. Now, those extra rooms were long abandoned to time and disuse, forgotten in the wake of the Pooka genocide. With a motion slowed by exhaustion, Aster eased the gate open, trudging up the walk, the setting sun washing the flowers of his garden with hues of orange and red. It wasn’t until Aster reached the door however that he first noticed something was awry. Really, with a nose like his he should have smelled something off form the gate. Hell, he should have smelled the interloper the moment he entered the Warren. It was a testament to his bone-deep weariness that he hadn’t. With a heavy sigh Aster pushed the door open; waiting for the practical joke, for surely there was a patch of ice on the floor or a snowball to the face waiting for him. What else could one expect when Jack Frost was around? 

Aster was therefore incredibly surprised when he stepped into his bright, open kitchen to see Jack elbow deep in his sink, cheerily scrubbing dishes. Aster could admit that he didn’t do a lot of cooking, preferring a mostly raw, vegetarian diet like most Pooka. And lately even his usual food prep had fallen by the wayside due to his schedule, fresh salads and the occasional soup being replaced by grabbing a carrot or some celery to chomp on while continuing to work. Aster was ashamed to admit that his preoccupation with his duties had begun to show physically; he had lost weight, both due to his poor diet, and the loss of muscle mass caused by the sacrifice of his daily Kata’s. That didn’t mean however, that he didn’t have dishes. He had dishes galore in fact, stacked in the sink and on the sideboard nearly to the ceiling, last he’d looked. Dishes that had probably sat there for months, slowly building up during the occasions when he’d actually slowed enough to take a proper meal and then being left to moulder while he ran about prepping frantically for his holiday. 

Dishes that were now systematically being immersed in soapy water, scrubbed furiously, rinsed in a dish of clear water on the counter then set to the side on a towel dry. 

Aster blinked. Then blinked again. A third blink however, did nothing to dispel the dish-washing mirage that had taken up residence in his kitchen. He was tempted to back out and try opening the door again to see if that worked when the mirage turned around and smile a brilliant ivory smile.

“Bunny! Glad you’re back! I was worried you’d be out there all night; I’ve been here for hours. And look!” Here, Jack gestured to the waning pile of dirty tableware that was still remaining. “I’ve almost slain the Dragon!” His grin this time was so self-satisfied, the laughter dancing in his eyes that Aster couldn’t quite help the corner of his lips twitching up into a smile. 

“Right foul beast that, yeah? Need’n any backup there Jackie?” The nickname slipped out before Aster could control it. That traitorous bastard of a body part, his mouth, smiling and saying things without his owner’s permission!

“Naw, I got it. Was going to make dinner too, but then I saw there were no clean, well, anything really so I got started, and you can see where that led.” Jack looked a little sheepish, and in his expression Aster could see reflections of all the little comments he’d been hearing over the past couple of months from all his friends, about how he was working too hard and overdoing it and not taking care of himself. Comments that he’d denied so vociferously that the other’s concerns had eventually stopped. Well, the vocal concerns at least, he knew what they were all thinking. It seems like the Frost child was the only one who was willing to take matters into his own hands. Aster had to repress another fond smile at the thought; leave it to Jack to use breaking and entering as an expression of worry. And theft, too, if the little pile of washed vegetables pulled from his own garden and resting on the far counter was any indication of Jack’s intentions to make dinner.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt your fine progress then there, mate.” Suddenly feeling somewhat renewed, Aster came fully into his home for the first time, closing the door behind him and sauntering over to the counter where the produce was laid. “You like salad then, Frostbite?” Aster glanced over the shoulder to the left to look at his guest while he spoke.

“Eating’s not really a requirement for 300 year old frozen corpses.” Jack said, with a somewhat bitter twist to his lips, from where he was valiantly conquering the mess. He had suds in his hair and streaked across one cheek, the sleeves of his hoodie were covered in damp handprints from where he was constantly pushing them back up to his elbows, and the front of him was soaked a dark blue and spattered liberally with bits of food from the slopping water. Taking in the whole visage, Aster could honestly say that he didn’t think Jack had ever looked more becoming. The thought flashed through his mind like a lightning strike, and he quickly tore his eyes away, focusing instead on the head of lettuce he currently was holding in a death grip. Forcing himself to let go, he reached out and snagged a sharp knife from the clean stack of dishes and began to chop.

“Didn’t ask ya if ya were hungry ya drongo, I asked if you like salad.” From the corner of his eye, Aster saw Jack’s head jerk up so fast he mentally winced in sympathy for the imagined neck ache. The boy’s expression was open, his eyes sharp, looking for any sign of falsehood in the Pooka’s face, a typical Jack reaction to both any offered kindness, and any deliberate ignorance of the biological peculiarities resulting from his death and rebirth. Pretending indifference, Aster continued chopping vegetables, appearing for all intents and purposes absorbed in his task. A Pooka’s peripheral vision was wider and much more acute then a humans; a fact that Aster was banking on that Jack didn’t know. A fact that must be true, as, seeing no signs on insincerity Jack slowly relaxed, resuming the task at hand before replying with forced calmness.

“Yeah, I could go for Rabbit food.” Aster didn’t have to sneak a glance at Jack to know that there was now a small, smug grin on the other spirit’s face. Huffing a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh he got back down to work, carefully julienning the carrots and tossing them all into a bowl on top of the bed of lettuce.

The sun was finally making its exit for the night, painting the kitchen in the murky grey of twilight. Aster laid down his knife long enough to light the lamps before continuing, finishing off and setting the table for two, pumping two large glasses of cool water to accompany their meal. They settle into their seats across the small table that has seen far, far too many solo meals and dig in, Aster carefully serving his guest the requested portion before helping himself. Conversation is light and casual, a comfortable exchange that eventually tapers off into companionable silence as the plates empty. Aster props his elbows on the table and rests his chin forward onto clasped hands, observing the boy in front of him, who in turn is observing the home around him. The boy is brushed in flickering gold from the many hanging lamps that fill Aster’s burrow with their soft light. The night is warm, but there is a little bit of winter bite to it; a cool freshness like the hint of mint he always sprinkled into his salads and was still lingering on his palate. This is the calmest, the stillest, and perhaps the most content that Aster has ever seen the boy, who is usually near-manic with his energy and youthful exuberance. Young Jack sits in Aster’s second chair, so long left empty like he owns it, like it was made for him, like he belongs here in this place. Sitting back in his seat to take in the full tableau, Jack’s crisp whiteness against the earthy brown of Aster’s home, he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe belonging here was exactly what the kid did. And while Aster knows that he owes a good portion of this feeling to instincts screaming at him the something pretty was showing interest in his burrow, and therefore in him by extension, there was some small part of him that couldn’t help but be grateful that, above anyone else who could have visited today, it had been Jack who came.


	2. This place I never thought would feel like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time Aster caught Jack making himself at home in Aster’s burrow was somehow more surprising than the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt on the ROTG Kink Meme:
> 
> A funny bit of rabbit trivia that popped into my mind one time:  
> With wild rabbits, it's the female rabbits, does, who do all the digging and other maintenance work on the burrows.
> 
> So... Aster, the lone bachelor that he is, has sorta let his warren go. The gardens and the things needed for the Easter preparations are in perfect order, but the actual living quarters are a mess. Jack, having been raised in a day and age when children were expected to pitch in on the household chores from early on can't ignore it. So he sets about tidying the place up for the organizationally challenged kangaroo.
> 
> But, in a pooka warren having a doe take up interest in some lone buck's burrow usually means that she intends to share it, so Jack puttering about his very personal space, dusting and re-arranging, is hitting Bunny hard in some instinct that says: "Hey, look! Something young and pretty looking for a nest to share? Don't let him get away!"
> 
> Intellectually, Bunny knows Jack doesn't mean it that way, but that does little to curb the way watching Jack makes other things they could be doing in that burrow creep into his mind.

The second time Aster caught Jack making himself at home in Aster’s burrow was somehow more surprising than the first. It shouldn’t have been truthfully, having been exposed to the phenomenon once before should have given Aster some kind of forewarning, or immunity. But the fact of the matter was that Aster was even more floored the second time, when, upon finally dragging himself away from his work an making his way home he encountered a slim, pale figure in his garden. It was earlier than it had been the last time, the sun still an hour or so away from setting. Since Jack’s previous visit Aster had been making more of an effort to get himself properly fed and tucked in to bed in a more timely fashion than he had previously, even if only in concession to the fretfulness of his friends. He didn’t think he had it in him to admit out loud but he had been feeling better; more focussed and put together in the last couple days then he had in the last couple months. The decline had been so gradual that, looking back, he truly hadn’t realized how much of a toll his punishing schedule had been taking on his physical, mental and emotional wellbeing. At least, not until a pasty-skinned ragamuffin had strolled into his most private of sanctuaries and not only made himself comfortable but had dragged Aster kicking and screaming back into comfort with him. 

This time, Jack wasn’t half-drowned in filthy dishwater in front of Aster’s ancient cast-iron sink. No, this time Jack was half-drowned in a tub of washwater on Aster’s lawn, elbows deep and scrubbing furiously at what appeared to be... Aster’s favorite quilt? Once again, the Pooka couldn’t fight the strange sense of vertigo the scene presented, is mind momentarily incapable of making the connections between the figure crouched before him hard at work and the Jack Frost he’d thought he’d known, who shunned hard work like it was a particularly virulent plague. Aster must’ve made a sound, or moved far enough into Jack’s periphery to alert the boy of his presence because Jack looked up and Aster found himself suddenly caught and held by an incandescent blue gaze.

“Heya Longears, packing it in a bit early today?” Jack’s smile was vivid against the backdrop of the roses and gerberas in behind him. The boy raise a hand and used the back of it to push his bangs off his forehead as he spoke, leaving a little smear of wet suds at his temple, a single droplet making its way down his cheek towards his jaw. Aster had the good sense to grunt a noncommittal reply as he followed the tiny drop’s progress until is stopped next to Jack’s delicate earlobe. The boy was kneeling over the large tin basin Aster used for laundry in a position that always caused Aster’s legs to cramp, but didn’t seem to bother Jack at all. The winter spirit’s sleeves and shirtfront were possibly even more dampened then before, the perpetual hoodie darkened several shades on spots from midwinter blue to nearly navy. From this angle, off to Jack’s left and partially behind him, Aster could clearly see Jack’s thin feet tucked beneath the nearly non-existent swell of his bottom. The boy must have trudged back and forth across the ground many times, pumping and boiling water to fill the tub, as was evidenced not only by the splashes of wet earth here and there where he’d accidentally dripped while walking, but also in the dirt smudged deep between the toes and into the creases on the bottom of those tiny, exquisite feet. 

“So I noticed last time that the dishcloths I found seemed a little musty, like they’d been sitting around unaired too long. Figured they could use a bit of freshening up.” Jack’s voice brought Aster back into reality rather abruptly, and yanking his eyes away from the strangely erotic sight took more of Aster’s willpower then he wanted to admit too. 

“Oh, is that why my quilt’s made it way topside? Last I saw the thing, it was keeping time with my nest.” Aster’s voice was a little deeper than normal, slightly roughened with the force of quelling the perplexing desire rising in his gut. Jack for his part didn’t seem to notice, or chalked it up to a day’s worth of silence on Bunny’s part, because he simply shrugged and continued with the task at hand, not sparing a glance at the larger body that had been making his way toward him.

“Went looking for your room actually, I know you don’t wear clothes but I figured, hey, nothing better than clean bed sheets at the end of the day, right?” Not that Jack would have found any; Aster still slept in a woven straw-and moss nest in traditional Pooka style, his only concession to human culture was the quilt, handmade by Katherine far longer ago then he cared to remember. But there was something in Jack’s voice that had caught his attention; the tone was a little crisp, and his eyes bittersweet. It hit him suddenly, and Aster realized that, like eating, sleeping was an activity that Jack no longer strictly required. He could if he chose to, but by his own admission at an earlier date, Jack was a wanderer, a nomad with no fixed address, and therefore had likely not crawled into a real bed with real sheets, clean or otherwise, since his days as a human. Aster had also deduced during that conversation, if from the wistful tone of voice alone, that Jack hadn’t settled and built himself a house less because he didn’t want it, or even that he couldn’t, but mostly because there had been nothing anywhere on Earth for him in 300 years to make any such dwelling a proper home, and not simply a place to crash when he felt like it. Something inside Aster’s gut had bled a little for his chilly friend that day, and he’d found himself offering open access to the Warren before he’d even fully thought the decision through, the words springing from his lips fully formed with little input from his usually more logical brain. Aster had feared immediately after that he would come to regret that decision, but the look on Jack’s face of stunned joy had stopped him from withdrawing the offer. And Aster couldn’t deny he’d yet to actually felt sorry for his uncharacteristic impulsiveness. In fact, is Jack was going to keep this up, he might even come to appreciate the slip, and probably far quicker then he should.

Aster realized that while he’d been lost in thought, Jack had moved on to relating the details of his latest visit to Tooth and her fairies. Cocking an ear toward the boy, Aster continued to let the mindless tide of Jack’s melodic voice wash over him, humming a bit at appropriate points. Aster was really only lending only half an ear to Jack’s anecdote though, instead using the guise of attentiveness to study the strange creature before him. Jack moved like the wind he rode, sometimes light and playful, other times with all the force and violence of an incoming storm. Every movement flowed easy as breathing, from the repetitive up and down motion of the fabric in his hands against the washboard, into sliding gracefully to his feet to hand-wring the colourful blanket, then in steps as fleeting as moonlight across the grass to the drying line. Practised hands secured the patchwork monstrosity that was the most comfortable, snuggly blankie this side of the equator in Aster’s not-so-humble opinion to the line, before Jack took a step back, shaking out the ends to ensure proper drying all around. Beside the quilt, Aster could see most of the rest of his admittedly limited linen collection already hung and drying, and he realized that the quilt must have been the last thing into the tub. This was confirmed when Jack wandered back to the tub, turning to look quizzically at his companion.

“Where do you usually dump the old water when you’re done?”

“Right there’s as good as any, little soap won’t hurt the grass none.” Jack nodded once, then turned and bent at the waist to upend the washbasin into the grass. Aster felt himself surge forward of his body’s own accord the moment the boy’s tempting posterior was displayed so openly, it was only the frantic, 11th-hour intervention of his higher reasoning that had him diverting at the last moment, stepping up beside the boy instead of directly behind him, hands going to aid in flipping the basin instead of going to slim hips to flip Jack and..

Well, best not be thinking those thoughts right now. Or ever, really. Boy was far too young comparatively speaking, and besides, it’s not like he even knew what he was doing to Aster, or what his sudden interest in Aster’s domestic routines meant in Pooka culture. Aster repeated this reasoning to himself all through dinner; a light vegetable soup with fresh bread, all handmade by the boy across the table for him. It was mostly autopilot that kept any conversation on track, because the Pooka’s head was swimming by the time the boy left for the evening. It was late then, mostly dark, and Aster watched Jack’s slender back as he made his way across the nearby field toward the tunnel where the North wind waited to take him... well, not home, but wherever it was Jack went when he wasn’t barging into people’s personal spaces, or creating winter havoc for the benefit of a bunch of little ones. It was a long couple of minutes after Jack’s form had disappeared in the distance that Aster felt he could leave his vigil by the lone window. He sighed to himself, turning around to face the reality of the situation that he’d been putting off since Jack’s first visit a handful of days ago. 

There were two sets of bowls, cups and cutlery drying on the sideboard, where Jack had insisted on cleaning the dishes after their meal. The remainder of the soup Jack had frozen to keep fresh; it would slowly thaw over the course of the next day to be ready for Aster to reheat for supper tomorrow. Everywhere he looked Aster could see little touches of Jack, his small footprints in the loose dirt of the floor, the now-dry linens stacked neatly on their shelf, the quilt also folded and waiting for Aster to carry it to bed.

Jack had been in his room today, had crawled into his very nest, had taken one of Aster’s most prized possessions, and cared for it, treated it like the gold Aster felt it was. That fact alone had all of Aster’s reason and logic crumbling apart like sand on the beach. For all the convincing of himself Aster tried to do, he couldn’t the deny that fact that, while Jack may not of know what he was doing to Aster’s hormones and how he was setting long-dormant instincts on fire, Jack did know what he was doing for Aster. All the little attentions he’d been paying to his “Bunny,” all his careful little devotions, they meant something, they hit Aster right in the core of him, right in his centre where his heart of hearts was begging him to have patience with the boy, to have faith, that maybe the years of loneliness and solitude could find an end in Jack’s small arms. Little Jack, who’s heart was too big for his body, even bruised as it was by a world that couldn’t just let him be, even by Aster’s very own earlier selfishness and ignorance. Actions after all, spoke louder than words, and Jack’s actions sang to him, a cadence of care and affection, that, even when given platonically, they outshone anything Aster had allowed himself to have since the rest of the Pooka race had died. 

Aster surveyed the room again, running a hand over the back of the chair Jack had sat in, imagining that a little of Jack’s trademark cold had seeped into the wood there, marking it forever as his place at Aster’s table. Inside his furry chest, Aster felt the weight of promise fill him for the first time in many, many centuries. 

“I’m right fucked now, aren’t I?” Aster spoke to the room at large, and when no answer came to him from the void he sighed, blowing out the lamps one by one and shuffling off to sleep, clean quilt smelling of sunshine on snow clutched tight in his arms.


	3. Give You Back the Things They Took From You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time; Aster is prepared. This time, Aster is waiting for the telltale sign of a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to everyone who's read this work, commented, or given me kudos. You are amazing and inspirational, and I usually try to reply to everyone's comments individually but I've been overwhelmed with the response to this story. Thank you so much for your enjoyment, it's what keeps me writing. This story has always been, in my head, a sort of 5 and 1 piece. That means six chapters total, so this story is now half done.
> 
> Buckle up for the rest of the ride kiddies, keep your hands inside the car and without further ado, read on!

The third time; Aster is prepared. This time, Aster is waiting for the telltale sign of a visitor. When it comes just shortly after noon four days after the last visit, Aster’s can’t quite stop the smile that creeps onto his face. He had not been sure Jack would return, finding himself apprehensive that perhaps Jack had tired of him, of his endless messes and his admittedly sharp tongue and his obviously poor social skills, which, as Aster was fond of joking bitterly on his worst days, were probably still some of his better qualities. Pushing the unpleasant thoughts aside and still carrying on with his weeding, Aster tracked the winter spirit’s progress from the tunnel leading to Burgess across the field, past the colour river and over the three small hills that lead to Aster’s burrow. Usually, tracking jack aboveground is next to impossible as the kid spends most of his time in the air, or perched in places high enough that just thinking about them makes Aster’s head spin. Aster is tied to life, to the Earth in particular and the things that live on it and grow in it, so he can only reliably find Jack when he’s either grounded, or perhaps tucked away in a tree. Here though, in the Warren the North Wind cannot follow, or, perhaps, does not out of respect. Here Jack can only walk, and though his footsteps are as light as a butterfly’s kiss, Jack cannot help the fact that even at his most cautious; his footsteps always leave the very lightest dusting of his namesake on the grass with every step. It’s never enough to do damage, especially not to the hardy vegetation in the Warren, but it’s enough to make his presence unmistakable to one who know what he’s looking for. And if there is anything in this world Aster would like to know, it is Jack.

Aster gives his guest and hour to get himself into whatever mischief he can find, before straitening up and planting his tools where he was working, so as to continue on from the same place the next day. Aster has moved much further ahead then he thought possible this last week, despite not putting in as many hours as he had been. The better meals and improved sleep likely had much to do with it, although he couldn’t deny that the recent company had certainly energized him in ways he hadn’t predicted. Truthfully, Jack’s very presence lit him up like a light bulb, made him feel incandescent with the feeling of it, joyful in ways he hadn’t felt in far, far too long. Jack made Aster feel things that terrified him and renewed him in the very same breath. It should have been exhausting, but instead it was uplifting. Aster could hardly wait to see Jack today, creeping up his front path to ease the door open as silently as possible, intending to give the boy the best scare possible. Doubtless the other Guardian would get him back somehow, but it would be worth it to see how wide those baby blues could go. 

Aster’s brilliant plan was ruined though the moment the door opened and he took in the sight before him. Jack hadn’t noticed him just yet, due to his quieter than usual entrance, which gave the Pooka time to fully absorb what he was seeing. Jack wasn’t scrubbing or tidying or puttering like Aster had expected, oh no, Jack was _dancing._

At least, for a given value of dancing.

While holding a broom sideways, left hand sliding up and down the handle and fingers drumming in odd patterns, the right hand making a furious up and down motion against the flat side of the head.

Not only that, he was singing at the top of his lungs, something about walking alone on a street of dreams. 

All of this was being done, naturally, with Jack standing on the dinner table. 

Aster wasn’t sure how long he stood there gaping open mouthed at the spectacle. Jack had his eyes closed, completely lost in the moment. At least until what Aster figured must have been the last chorus, because without warning Jack leaped off the table in a grand finish and nearly landed on him. All of a sudden the party was over, and Jack was there wide-eyed and nearly nose-to-nose with his host, height distance notwithstanding. Dimly, Aster realized he’d gotten his wish to see Jack speechless and eyes widened in shock. He probably would have enjoyed it more too if he hadn’t been so thrown but the boy’s sudden proximity, the cool scent of fresh snow filing his lungs and his skin prickling from the slight chill Jack seemed to exude, like he absorbed the heat in his personal bubble, a feat that always amazed Aster because he felt cool to the touch, like marble. It was that epiphany that made Aster drop his hands abruptly from where they’d flown to Jack’s upper arms to steady the boy after his poor landing, and instinctive reaction he hadn’t even realized he’d made. The moment stretched awkwardly around them, until Jack broke it with a nervous giggle. 

“Um, Bunny, hey! I uh, wasn’t expecting you back here for a bit yet...” Jack had lowered the broom as he spoke, resting the business end on the dirt floor at his feet and clutching the handle with both hands close to him at chest height. It was a move Aster recalled as Jack did it frequently with his staff; it was also a move Aster hated because above all else Pooka were animals. Highly evolved animals, but animals still and they depended very heavily on instincts that, while humans still retained were not as easily recognized when then cropped up in the everyday. Aster was old hat at them though, even after all this time mingling with less-furry companions, and Jack’s pose right there? It was totally defensive. In this case, probably only classic Earth-please-swallow-me-now discomfort caused by his embarrassment, but Aster had been around more than a few spins about the sun now, and he could see the shades of fight-or-flight powering this reaction, and the thought of Jack feeling threatened by anything while under his roof, even his response to this Jack’s silly fun, made his gut twist in ugly ways.

“Not a half-bad singing voice on yeh there, Jackie-O, think you were on key and everythin’. Can’t say I care for your idea of a respectable indoor volume though.” Aster would have preferred to have gathered the spirit into his arms, holding him close until he was soothed and assured of his acceptance and safety, but Aster also knew that Jack was still a skittish, troubled thing, more likely to flinch from the offered comfort then lean into it. Aster’s second best bet then was to keep things as casual and friendly as their previous interactions, with just the right amount of playful bite to keep the boy from thinking he was being coddled, as nothing would drive him away faster. Both Tooth and North had learned that he hard way, when their tendency towards the overbearing sort of affection had terrified Jack clean out the window on more than one occasion before Sandy had smacked them with a clue-by-four. A literal one at that, made of sand. At the time, Aster had laughed his ass off, now he was desperately praying to MiM that he wasn’t going to mess this up and scare the other male halfway to the Arctic circle and back. There was a pregnant pause before Jack relaxed, loosening his grip slightly and offering Aster a small, but genuine smile. 

“Ah, thank, I think. I was sweeping, and the song was stuck in my brain and then I was dancing, and, well, some songs just aren’t any good quiet y’know?” Aster didn’t know, not being a huge music fan himself, preferring instead the natural sounds of the wind in the trees or the cicada’s in the grass to the manufactured sounds enjoyed by most humans, but he nodded anyways.

“Think your dancing partner’s a little tuckered out there, though.” Aster joked, keeping his tone deliberately light. The boy looked at his quizzically for a second before Aster gestured to the broom Jack still held with one paw.

“Oh that? That’s air guitar, y’know, you hold something, or nothing if you want, and you pretend you’re playing the guitar... Please tell me you’ve air guitared before.” It took a moment for Aster to recall that the guitar was a human instrument wood with strings that vibrated different notes when plucked or strummed, and suddenly the strange motions made more sense. He honestly couldn’t say he had tried it himself though, and told Jack as much, which made the boy’s nose wrinkle with his adorable little frown. “Ok, that’s just not on the level! Here I’ll show you, stand here like this...” Jack’s hands reached for him in a parody of every way Aster had wished for Jack to reach for him, and fearing for his temperamental self control he stopped Jack, gently catching the boy’s cold hands with his own, much larger ones.

“Not right now, Kiddo.” Aster said evenly, giving the hands in his own a soft squeeze, thumbs stroking over the backs before carefully letting them go. “I whipped something up fer yah, actually, take a seat ‘ere I’ll be back in a tick.” Jack sat then, seeming a little stunned, either by Aster’s lack of anger or perhaps by the hand-holding, Aster wasn’t sure. He hurried a bit quicker than usual in case the boy decided to flee while his back was turned, scurrying down to his room and collecting the item carefully wrapped with brown paper and twine. North had offered him fancy wrapping paper when he’d collected the fabric and sewing supplies he’d called in a favor to have the man provide for him, but Aster was a humble man of simple tastes and knew that Jack, raised is times when necessities were thin and luxuries unheard of, was too. He re-entered the kitchen to catch Jack out of the chair and rag in hand, carefully wiping any trace of dust or dirt from the table’s wooden surface. His grin when Aster arrived was slightly sheepish, but he offered no excuses or explanations, he only crossed to the sink, working the water pump a couple of times to rinse the rag and then laying it over the pump handle to dry. He then took his seat again, hands in his lap and trying desperately not the stare hungrily at the package in Aster’s paws. It occurred to the Pooka then that, quite possibly in his 300 years as an immortal Jack had likely never been given a gift before. The thought drove something sharp into the spaces between Aster’s ribs and stole his words, so he said nothing as he handed the gift over. Jack hesitates for a heartbeat, running one hand over the front of it, seemingly awed before greedy little fingers set to work unknotting the twine. Once it gives way, the paper is peeled back to reveal a precisely folded garment of white cotton. Jack lifts it, carefully shaking it out to see what it is.

It’s an apron, a simple, plain white cotton apron. Aster had to admit, he’d done good work. He’d designed it himself, keeping Jack’s petite dimensions in mind. Every cut had been painstakingly measured and planned, every stitch done by hand as neat and small as he could make them. In the end, while the gift was plain, the craftsmanship would shine as a labour of love, something Aster was hoping that, raised as a mortal in the time period he was, Jack would recognize. If the boy’s face was anything to go by, Aster would bet that he did.

“Bunny, did you... I mean, of course you did, but, why?” There was a dampness to Jack’s eyes when they found his, which made Aster swallow hard, more moved by emotion then he thought he’d be when he planned this.

“Yer always trashing that jumper o’ yours when you come cleaning up after this old Rabbit, least I could do if you’re gonna keep it up, yeah?” Aster’s words were a little roughened by the tightness in his throat, but they seem to appease Jack, who gave a watery little laugh before standing. He slipped the top loop over his head, smoothing the front down his chest with hands so pale they were almost lost to the soft fabric. The ties he fumbled with a couple times before he gave up, giving Aster a disarming grin.

“You any good at tying these things?” Aster nodded, throat still not obeying him enough to respond verbally. He slid easily around behind the spirit, taking the ties in paws that only trembled very slightly, and tying a deliberate, neat bow snug across Jack’s lower back. He lingered momentarily before stepping back to indicate he was finished, enjoying the brief glimpse of those tantalizing loops hovering above Jack’s pert ass before the boy turned around. “Well, how do I look?” The question was spoken in a casual tone but Aster could hear all the self-consciousness swimming about behind it. He took his time giving the winter child a once-over, simultaneously drinking in the delectable sight as well as gathering what little of his higher thoughts remained in the wake of his not unexpected desire. The fabric hung perfectly; the bib starting just even with Jack’s armpits, adding an extra layer of fabric across his slim chest and down his flat belly, ending at his knees and somehow managing both to hug his delicate figure in a provocative way and yet still managing to be as sweet and demure as anything. 

“Y’look perfect, Jackie.” Were all the words Aster was able to squeak out. It didn’t seem to matter though, because Jack’s smile eclipsed entire star systems it was so bright.

The rest of their afternoon together was spent in comfortable companionship like the previous ones had been, with Jack finishing the sweeping and dusting while Aster washed dishes and prepped dinner. After the meal, Jack reverently removed his new article of clothing, folding it with the same devotion and laying it gently on and unoccupied spot on Aster’s linen shelf.

“You don’t mind if this stays here?”

“Naw, s’fine there, Snowball.” Jack huffed a bit of laughter and the new nickname as the gathered his staff to leave. 

“Fine then, see you again soon... Cottontail.” Jack gave one last mischievous grin over his shoulder as he sauntered off into the newly fallen night, Aster watching him leave from the window as he always did, heart aching at the silence and loneliness that pressed down a little heavier every time Jack left.

This time, Aster has been waiting for the minute shift in the warren that always signalled the entrance of a visitor. The warren was tied to Aster’s own life force, and in return Aster was tied to it. Any interlopers to his space welcome or not, usually twigged immediately. The fact that Jack hadn’t the last couple times meant one of two things; either Aster had been further down the spiral then he’d thought, or Jack was no longer registering in a noticeable way because Aster recognized his presence as belonging. In essence, Jack became like an egg, or any of Aster’s stone guardians, in that Aster could feel each and every one of them if he focussed on it, but otherwise they faded into the background hum that was created by every living thing in the Warren, a song only he could hear. While the first option appeared to be the more worrisome, in reality Aster was clinging to it, because the thought that it could be the second? That meant that somehow, at some point, even before Jack had waltzed in and begun his inadvertent courting ritual, Aster had already grown attached. 

“Fucked ain’t even the word fer it anymore, is it now?” The empty room said nothing in return, leaving Aster with no choice but to put out the lamps and retire for the night. If he was lucky, maybe he’d dream about the bright happy laughter of the one he loved tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced in this chapter is Whitesnake's [Here I Go Again](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oohFGOmcxuo) because if you're going to _rockthefuckout,_ it's gotta be to an 80's rock song, amirite?


	4. Sometimes It's Got to Hurt Before You Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fourth time Jack visited the Warren was also the time when everything went to hell, and Aster had no one to blame but himself.

The fourth time Jack visited the Warren was also the time when everything went to hell, and Aster had no one to blame but himself.

In the aftermath, Aster found himself dropping in on North. He had no doubt that Jack had already been there, the boy and the older man were thick as thieves these days, at least when Jack wasn’t whirling his way about Aster’s burrow in an apron-clad cleaning frenzy. He also had no doubt that the older man would be expecting him, both to tell his side of the story, and also to give him a rightly deserved browbeating for his piss-poor behavior. There were few things in this world that Aster found he could reliably count on; Tooth would forever be sticking fingers into various mouths, Sandy was always the coolest kid on the playground bar none, Jack would forever find himself into any trouble that came along, and North gave the best advice on the planet, hands down. Probably because he was the wisest of the lot of them, despite the way their relative ages actually stacked up. When he was honest with himself, Aster could admit that wisdom was one arena in which he usually did not succeed, hence his sheepish trek to his best friend’s home in the hopes of maybe walking out of this with a clearer head and a game plan.

After taking his lumps like the six-foot sentient rodent he was, of course.

One of the Yeti’s that Aster didn’t recognize escorted him to North’s office. Head down and shoulders hunched Aster knocked and waited to be ushered in. North was kind enough to not leave him cowering outside the door for long, and it was only moments later that Aster was seated with a cup of strong tea and a plate of biscuits. The silence stretched between the old friends for long minutes as Aster gathered his thoughts, knowing that North would not speak until he had started the conversation.

“I... I mucked up, big time.” The admission alone was painful, Aster didn’t know if he’d survive the rest of the conversation to come.

“Da.” The one word answer said everything Aster needed to know about his friend’s current level of happiness with him, and he felt himself swallowing involuntarily as he steeled himself to continue.

“I know Jack’s been here, I know he probably told you that he’s been... visiting lately.” Aster stumbled a little on the words, still trying to build up momentum. “Made himself right at home he has, picking the place up and what have you.” North’s eyebrows shot into his hairline at the revelation. Interesting, Jack didn’t appear to have mentioned that part during his visit, and now that North knew, well, Aster could expect the third degree on that was well as there was no way North didn’t recall what such behavior meant by Pooka standards. “I know, I shoulda told the kid what he was doing, but it was... nice, North. Nice to have a mate there for you at day’s end, yeah?”

“And what meaning of ‘mate’ you are thinking of when you look at our boy, old friend?” North sat forward in his seat as he spoke and while question was gentle it was pointed and unflinching, demanding of an answer. Aster knew his downturned eyes and telling silence said more in response then any words could. Slowly, North sat back in his chair. “Ah, and here, we have heart of matter, yes?” Aster nodded once before continuing.

“It’s not just the instincts North, I swear to you, the boy is... Well, he’s Jack now, ain’t he? Just Jack, and I...” Aster took a swig of his cooling tea, using the distraction to compose himself. “I came home, but he wasn’t in the kitchen, yeah? So I went down and I found him, in the rooms. He hadn’t even done anything, just some sweeping, dusting up the cobwebs and what have yeh. But he was there, in that place, and he had no business being there and I...” Aster trailed off, unable to continue past the thickness in his throat.

“You lost temper, yes?” Miserably, Aster nodded his confirmation. North sighed loudly, rising from his seat and wandering to a small cabinet mounted in the corner. Re returned with a silver engraved flask, pouring and generous dollop of what was likely 90-proof liquor into each teacup. Aster couldn’t stop his crooked smile; leave it to his friend to provide the grease for an otherwise stalled conversation. The each took generous mouthfuls of their drinks, both feeling the burn of the added spirits. 

“Didn’t even mean to, I just lost my head. Poor blighter doesn’t even know why.” North stared into a mostly empty mug, contemplating his words before he spoke.

“You have great loss, yes? You hoped for family, a mate, kits, these things were lost before they were even had. Much old pain there, my friend. You do not speak of, but we know, we see. So much pain is very heavy, weighs on the soul, and you, E. Aster,” North punctuated his point by gesturing to the Pooka with a half-empty teacup. “You have carried alone for long time now. You care for our Jack, yes?”

“Yeah, more then I should.” North dismissed Aster’s guilt with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Pah, no such thing as too much caring! You love boy, you tell him. You share pain with him, my friend, because only when sorrows are shared, can joys be shared too.” Aster turned that over in his mind, letting the words percolate in.

“I didn’t want to, I didn’t want him burdened.”

“Much ugliness in this world yes, only makes beautiful things more precious. Our boy is stronger then he looks, Bunny, he has shoulders wide enough for this. Question to you is, do you have shoulders wide enough for him?”

North’s last question rang through Aster’s head the rest of the visit, and all through the tunnel home. It lingered in the back of his mind as he slipped through his front door. I followed him trough the kitchen and down the ladder into the sleeping chambers below. Aster had been planning to retire for the evening and sleep on his friend’s sage advice, but he found himself stopping almost without permission in front of the first empty chamber. He stepped forward, raising the lamp he used for navigating the darkness of the lower floor to cast light into the room. 

The space was nothing extraordinary, a simple egg-shaped room tunneled into the earth in the exact size and style of his own room. Along one wall a couple of shelves had been dug into the moist soil of the wall, and a hook just off to the left held the lamp that Jack had brought down earlier today, long since guttered out. The hard-packed floor and walls were unmarked; there were no decorations or any physical indications that this empty place was meant for more than storage. There was no way that Jack could have know all the hopes and dreams that had once filling Aster’s burrow to bursting, no way he could have understood from his surroundings alone that Aster and his long-deceased Mate had spent hours carefully excavating this room, and two others like with the intentions of someday filling them with kits of their very own. 

Trembling, Aster took one step forward into the erstwhile nursery for the first time since Pitch had slain the rest of his kind, centuries ago. Lying on the floor was the broom Jack had been using to sweep up decades of dust and loose dirt from the hard-packed floor when Aster had caught him and wigged out. Dear sweet MiM, Aster could still remember the boy’s gorgeous, blazing smile when he’d first seen Aster’s face, right before the yelling had started and Aster had driven the boy out. Aster had not explained, and Jack couldn’t have known. Somewhere out there, a young spirit was likely hurt and confused, wondering what he’d done so wrong, and Aster was a thousand times the fool for having treated something so precious so poorly.

Over the course of their friendship, Jack had already proved himself strong, and most importantly, capable of holding his own as Aster’s equal. Jack had kicked down the door to Aster’s carefully guarded heart and, with every act of compassion had shown him exactly how wide his shoulders were. North was right, Jack was more than qualified to bear the weight of Aster’s past, his grief and his exaltations alike. The question now was, were Aster’s shoulders wide enough to return the favour?

_Of course they were,_ he was E. Aster Bunnymund, Guardian of Hope, bringer of Spring and New Life, and right now? Right now he had rooms to finish cleaning, and an apology to plan.

With a determined grin tugging at the corners of his lips, Aster bent and grabbed the forgotten broom. If he wanted to snag himself a mate, he had work to do.


	5. Everything's Been Opened Up to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fifth time Jack shows up, Aster is passed out from sheer exhaustion, facedown snoring and drooling in a most unattractive way.

The fifth time Jack shows up, Aster is passed out from sheer exhaustion, facedown snoring and drooling in a most unattractive way. He wakes slowly and grumpily, grateful the lamp has burnt out over the course of what must have been hours and hours of restless sleep. His eyes ache, gritty and dry and his head pounds an angry cadence against his skull. The last thing he remembers is dragging himself with the last vestiges of his strength to his nest and tumbling headfirst into it, asleep before he even came to a stop. He’d been tearing like a madman through the bowels of his burrow’s deepest corners, sweeping and dusting out cobwebs and old memories. He’d been at it most of the night, frantic with both resolve and fresh grief. It wasn’t until he’d finally slowed with a lack of energy that he realized he’d been crying the whole time.

At the time it had felt good. They were cleansing tears, the kind you shed when you’ve hit the end of mourning. Aster thought he’d cried all his tears out eons ago, but he’d figured out last night that he was wrong; he still had a bunch stockpiled in the dark corners of himself that he’d been afraid to look at. Much like the dark corners in his burrow, cheerfully ignored and forgotten until Jack had tripped into them, shining the light of his kindness and joy into all the little niches of Aster’s tortured soul.

Or, you know, something poetic like that. Dear sweet MiM but his head was screaming. Between the hours spent cleaning up his metaphorical baggage and all the crying he’d done he’d run himself clean ragged. He hears himself groan weakly, as if from a distance as he feebly rolls himself onto his back. His left paw flops to the side, his fingertips just brushing against something smooth and cool. His nose scrunches briefly in curiosity before he blearily cracks one eye to examine to object.

To Aster’s bedside is a large glass of water, barely discernible even to Aster’s spectacular night vision in the total dark of his bedchamber. Aster blinks a little fuzzily at it a couple times before it registers that if the spidery frost patterns tracing their way up the glass were any indication, Jack had left it, probably recently.

Jack was here.

Aster bolts upright, ready to charge upstairs at top speed, but instead just sobs at the sudden wave of dizziness that hits him and slumps backwards to sprawl out. Alcohol’s never affected Pooka’s the way it does humans, but Aster can’t help but wonder if this is how a hangover feels. He stretches one hand out carefully to grab the glass, pushing himself just up enough to down it all in one hearty gulp. The frost has kept the water comfortably cool without being too cold, and Aster can’t help but mutter soft praises to the winter child under his breath. He settles back into his nest, rearranged his sprawled limbs a little less ungainly and prepares to wait out the discomfort unto the water has had a chance to restore some lost fluids and he feels less like mealy death on a stick.

Aster wakes again another undetermined amount of time later. The first thing he notices is that the worst of his headache has passed, staged down from a sharp stabbing behind his eyes into a mushy throbbing in his temples. He cautiously pushes himself into a sitting position with little to no vertigo. Well, he was definitely improved, for sure, but with no way to tell from underground how long he’d been out, he’d probably missed Jack.

Oh, _Jack._

Aster lays a hand on his chest over his heart, for a moment feeling his emotional pain made physical. The boy had been here, had bravely come back to the scene of the crime and instead of the apologies and affections he deserved, he’d been roped into further taking care of Aster’s great stupid arse. Was there no end to his rampant screwing up? Aster heaved a great sigh, kicking off his quilt and rubbing at still-sore temples with his fingertips in both pain and frustration. When the ache eases a bit further, he stops and instead moves on to stretching, enjoying the sweet pull of muscles stiffened from disuse. He turns his body one way and the nest, trying to loosen his spine, when he sees the glass, sitting exactly where he left it at the edge of the nest. Except it’s not exactly as he left it because the glass has been refilled, with fresh frost patterns trailing up the sides in delicate whorls. The sight is enough to halt Aster in his tracks, spine till arched awkwardly in an aborted stretch. 

The glass had been refilled at some point.

Could Jack still be here?

Aster strains his normally very acute hearing for the sound of anything moving above him, but part of the reason most Pooka’s dug their sleeping quarters below ground was for the sensory deprivation. When one is blessed with stellar hearing and sight, it can be difficult to filter out the distractions long enough to fall to slumber, and underground rooms dug into soft, rich earth were both absolutely dark and just about as completely soundproof. They also smelled almost sweet to a Pooka’s sensitive nose due to the moist soil that formed them, something that was very soothing and relaxing to his people. But that was neither here nor there, was it? The important thing was that Aster couldn’t tell if Jack remained or not. Figuring there was only one way to find out, Aster quickly downed the water and rose to his feet, swaying only slightly and mostly due to his legs being shaky from lack of use. He traversed the dark tunnels to the ladder that led upstairs, which sat at the end of the hall, haloed in golden light from above, glass in hand and heart in mouth. Aster ascends slowly, even though he usually just leaps up, ignoring the ladder completely. He is strangely apprehensive of what he will find when he arrives.

He emerges onto the main floor and is immediately struck by the savory smell of a home cooked meal. His mouth instantly waters and his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since the biscuits at North’s, which was goodness only know how long ago. He walks round the corner into the modest kitchen, eyes falling immediately to his kitchen table, where a lithe figure in a blue hoodie and white apron lovingly sets out dishes for one.

Oh, _Jack._

The frost child doesn’t appear to have heard him, so Aster gently clears his throat. Jack’s head jerks up, his surprised eyes meeting Aster’s, the boy so startled he fumbles the mug in his hands, frantically grabbing at it as it tumbles to the dry earthen floor and cracks into three large pieces with a heady crunch. If possible Jack’s face pales even farther, and he drops to a crouch, snagging up the broken porcelain, lips pressed so tight they appear white and bloodless. Aster is beside the boy before he is even aware that he’s moved, gently taking the broken bits from Jack so as to avoid cutting either of them and disposing of them in the waste bin. Jack hasn’t said a word, and Aster is finding it difficult to break the silence too. He settles for pumping himself another glass of water, grabbing an intact mug from the shelf, and turning back to the table. Jack takes a step backwards, carefully staying just outside of Aster’s personal space, something he wouldn’t’ have bothered to do before this whole debacle and it makes Aster whimper a little on the inside. The Pooka sets the glass and mug down on the table at his usual place, where currently the only table setting is laying. It’s as telling a statement as any Jack has made with his body language so far. It’s this observation that allows Aster to find his voice.

Oh, _Jack._

“Y’not expecting me to eat all this alone, Jackie?” The boy’s head, sunken almost chin to his chest with his discomfort, bob’s up at the sound of Aster’s voice. 

“Funny thing about fucking up, you’re not usually welcome back after.” Jack’s stiff as a board while he speaks, staff clutched to his chest so tightly his bony knuckles look like small white teeth, two little smiles against the wood of his staff. It’s obvious to Aster that Jack only came today as an apology. From the corner of his eye, Aster can tell that the whole kitchen has been tidied, the floors all swept, and the table wiped. On the counter, a loaf of fresh baked bread is wrapped in a towel to keep warm and still streaming. He can smell a whiff of something sweeter then bread coming from the oven though, and Aster would bet Easter that a carrot cake was currently baking away for later consumption. On the stovetop nearby a large tureen of hearty vegetable and rice soup simmers away, and a teakettle is working up to a good boil beside it. Aster knows from previous conversations that everything is handmade from scratch using recipes taught to him by Jack’s long deceased mother. In his misplaced guilt, Jack has outdone himself.

The boy is as tense as anything as Aster turns to face him properly, head up and holding his gaze but clearly ready to flee if required. It makes Aster’s heart twist to see the usually proud spirit holding his ground with nothing but legendary stubbornness, and for the first time since this started he decides to throw his discretion to the wind and just do what feels right. So Aster reaches out, ignoring Jack’s subtle flinch and pulls the boy into him, one arm going around Jack’s narrow waist just above the apron’s knotted strings, the other coming up to cup the back of Jack’s skull, gently cradling the other’s head to his chest, where his heartbeat can be heard beneath the thick fur. Jack is stiff and unyielding, only appearing to allow the contact due to surprise. Aster continues to push the advantage before the boy can squirm away and escape, burying his nose into wintery-scented locks.

“Erhm survzes.” Aster mumbles unintelligibly into the white strands currently tickling against his whiskers.

“Pardon?” Jack’s response is only slightly less muffled by Aster’s fur, but the Pooka has no trouble deciphering it. He turns his face to the side slightly, resting his cheek on Jack’s head instead of his lips and tries again. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo. Wos outta line there, it wasn’t anything you did wrong.” Jack scoffs a little into Aster’s chest, starting to wiggle his way out of the embrace, so Aster let’s him go, taking a step back and catching the boy’s chin with one paw to tilt his face up. “I mean it, Jackie. I’ll tell you why, if you promise to sit and eat with me while I do.” Jack looks torn, obviously uncomfortable and wanting to escape, but also intrigued by the possibility of an explanation, as Aster knew he would. If there was one think Jack was, it was insatiable curious. Finally, with a quick nod that break’s Aster’s hold on his chin, Jack steps back to the shelf and grabs a second place setting. The soup and bread is served up quickly after that, everything tasting just as delicious as it smells. The tea is steeped and poured, and both diners linger over their cups, the whole time Aster is talking.

“See kid, it’s like this; once, this whole Warren was full to the top of Pooka’s like me. There were burrows just like this one full of whole families all over the place. Then, Pitch came. He killed them all, right to every last one o’em, and torched the Warren behind him. Only I made it out alive. It took ages to clean the mess, bury what bodies survived the fire and coax everything back to being green again. The burrows mostly survived, being made of dirt. Over the years as I was made Guardian of Hope and Easter caught on, I found myself filling em’ in to make better use of the space. It was cathartic, laying the past to rest and all, but I never made it around to this burrow.” Aster felt the familiar bittersweet pain fill him as he spoke, hating every second and yet the words continued to come like water after the dam bursts. “This burrow was always mine and my mates, er, wife, I guess you’d humans say it. We were newly mated, had all these high hopes of a family of our own. We spent ages digging out new rooms for our future kits, the whole time dreaming about em, what they’d be like. After Pitch, I just...” Aster’s voice broke for a second, and he took a swig of tea to compose himself. Jack said nothing, the only platitudes he offered were with his earnest gaze, which Aster appreciated far more than the other male could know. “I couldn’t ever touch this burrow, not full up with ghosts like it was. I couldn’t move either though, trapped by the same things, yeah? I hadn’t entered those rooms in centuries, walking by them every day and pretending they didn’t exist.”

“Yeah, till I barged in and ruined everything.” Aster shouldn’t have been shocked by the bitter self-loathing in his tone, but he was. Clearly the boy needed lessons in not taking blame that didn’t belong to him, but those could wait for another day.

“You did nothing Jackie, you didn’t know. And you know what? I needed the kick in the tail something fierce. I’ve been sitting on this far too long, letting it fester. You just lit the match under my hind side. I gotta make a big scene about it though, you know me, I’ve got more temper in me then good sense.” Aster’s candid speech and self-effacing smile seemed to go a long way in smoothing things with Jack, as the boy was slowly relaxing, releasing his death grip on his mug for a more comfortable hold.

“We make a good pair I think,” Jack quipped with a crooked grim, “Deadboy and Ragebunny, the amazing duo!”

“Aster.” Jack blinked, confused at what was to him, a total change of subject.

“Pardon?”

“My proper name, mate. It’s Aster.” Jack’s mouth moved a couple times like he was going to speak, before he instead chose to huff out a breath of cool air, sinking back to slump in his chair.

“Huh, I’d wondered, but I figured it would something, y’know, more alien. Something that said ‘I’m a giant space rabbit with anger management issues and an unhealthy attachment to pastel paints and anything with roots.’” Aster couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter at the teen’s words.

“Not bad Jackie, not bad.” Jack grinned from behind his mug, smug as anything. “But, speaking of the pair o’ us... one more thing you should know.” Jack’s face was suddenly serious as he sat forward again.

“Does Pitch have anything to do with it? Cause I’m totally planning to shove my staff up his robed rear end sideways next time I see him, and I can guarantee it won’t be a fun time.” Aster can’t help another chuckle at the boy’s heartwarming sincerity before he sobers.

“Naw this one’s all me, mate. See I should've warned you the first time you came here, but I figured not harm, no foul. But then,” Aster sits forward, placing his cup down and crossing his arms with elbows on the table, bringing himself right into Jack airspace. The boy doesn’t appear to mind now that he’s relaxed and accepted the apology, holding his ground as the space between them narrows, luminous blue eyes brimming with curiosity. “Then you came back, Jack. And kept on comin’, even when I didn’t deserve it. All that, all _this,_ ” Aster emphasised his point by waving one hand around to indicate the burrow in general, trusting Jack to understand what he was implying, “this means something to us, to Pooka’s. Y’see kiddo, a doe only takes interest in a lone Buck’s burrow if she plans on moving in, on a very permanent basis.” Jack takes a second to absorb this, and Aster watches the subtle play of expression on his face as the boy’s mind works.

“You mean, like marriage, er, mating?”

“Yeah, like mating.” Jack blinks again slowly, and for a moment Aster is afraid he’s broken him.

“Doe’s are girls, right? I’m not a girl.” Aster nods in agreement.

“Well aware you aren’t, snowflake.” 

“I’m also not a six foot tall intergalactic shape-shifting time-travelling Rabbit!” Aster nods again, wry smile in place.

“The time-travelling thing is a load of hogswallow, and you can believe I’d noticed the lack of fur too.” Jack seems to have reached the end of his ability to sit still because he leaps up, pacing in quick, tight circles around the small table.

“So because I’m here, cleaning up and stuff, you, what, have these great big bunny feelings about the whole thing, and now you want to make me your little woman or something?” There was a creeping note of hysteria in Jack’s voice, which instantly brought a frown to Aster’s face.

“Instincts are strong, but I’m long past the age where they can rule me Jackie.”

“So you haven’t been thinking about us. Mated. Mating with me?” Aster decided enough is enough, and on Jack’s next pass his paw darts out quick as a snake-strike and grabbed Jacks flailing wrist. The boy comes to an abrupt stop, staring at Aster like he’s never seen him before. Aster holds the boy’s thin arm like he’d disappear if he let go, gently stroking his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing motion over the inside of Jack’s wrist, where the fine blue veins were visible under satiny skin. It appeared to have the desired effect as the boy seemed to sag a little in place, leaning a little closer to Aster’s warmth, worried eyes still searching his for the truth.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Been thinking a lot. But only cause it’s you, Jackie. Anyone else wouldn’t have me all done up in knots like this. I’m telling you now so you understand why when I say that you can’t come back here like this. It gets me wanting things I can’t have and that kinda hope is a hard hard thing to bear, Jack.”

“I can’t come back?” Jack’s voice is high and panicky, and is suddenly occurs to Aster for the very first time that all along, what he’d thought was just a fellow spirit doing favours for a friend, was actually giving the other Guardian back as much in return, and Aster is suddenly ashamed of his own short-sightedness.

“You can come back anytime you want. You’re my pal first, and I’m always here for you, for anything you need. I’d never turn yeh away Jack, I enjoy you too much, but I can’t have you here with me like this. Not making yourself at home in my burrow and up to your elbows in my garden and my messes like you belong here, cause I’m starting to think that you do, and if you come one more time I’m gonna want you to stay.” 

“To stay?” Jack is looking at Aster now like he’s no longer speaking English, but the boy hasn’t withdrawn, so Aster runs his thumb one more time over Jack’s wrist as he speaks.

“To stay, for always. We’re a loyal lot, us interstellar Kangaroos.” The boy cracks a small half-grin, pulling his and back slowly. Aster lets him go, willing to give him the space he needs to sort this out in his own head. Aster had expected Jack to bolt at the first opportunity, but he doesn’t. Instead he retakes his seat, finishing off the last dregs of his tea in the awkward silence that’s fallen. He finally breaks it with a peace offering of sorts.

“There’s still cake, y’know. Did you, um, want me to serve it?” It’s clear that Jack is anxious about overstepping his bounds and while some part of him died inside, he was grateful for the forced distance which would hopefully allow him to forget about his ludicrously inappropriate infatuation. Eventually. In a few centuries, maybe.

“That there is, mate. You can sit tight, I’ll have it plated in a jiffy.” The cake was divine, Jack was truly a talented individual. Aster ached inside a little more with the thought, and then again at the hedonistic look on enjoyment on Jack’s face as he savoured each bite. But Pooka’s were resilient and hardy, and E. Aster Bunnymund hadn’t survived countless ages by being a lovesick little fop all over the place.

“Can’t help but noticin’ the knots in those apron strings. Had some trouble there frostbite?” Jack scowls across the table, gesturing threateningly with his fork.

“Ok you can shut up anytime now! I haven’t worn shoes since I was human, so sue me if I’m three centuries out of practise at tying bows.” 

“Just sayin, I bet all the strugglin’ and fighting with it was fantastic sport, truly adorable.” Jack’s scowl deepened, but there was still laughter in his eyes.

“Seriously, stapling your mouth closed, Aster.”

The Pooka in question couldn’t stop his playful smile, even if the sound of his name on Jack’s lips was ultimately bittersweet.


	6. Epilogue: I'll Always Know Where You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day’s been a long, tiring one and Aster feels the weight of it straight down to his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. The final chapter, the last homestretch. It's been quite the ride, thanks so much to everyone who came along with me, who reviewed or left me kudos. You're fantastic, wonderful people and I'm overwhelmed by the positive response to this story, more than I've ever received for a single work before. I've had a blast playing with these characters, and rest assured should I dream up of new adventures for them, you all will be the first to know about it. :)
> 
> (Also, rating change like whoa. Please take note.)

The day’s been a long, tiring one and Aster feels the weight of it straight down to his bones. It’s been nearly a month since his last talk with Jack, and true to their agreement Jack has yet to return. Oh he’d seen the boy, at one of North’s regularly scheduled shindig’s the man now insisted on throwing every few months in the interest of Guardian solidarity, and once when he’d wandered over to Tooth’s palace of his own accord for a quick visit and stumbled across the boy just arriving for a visit of his own. Both times had been slightly awkward at first, neither of them sure quite how to treat each other but that had smoothed over in the first couple of minutes together until they were bantering as seamlessly as ever, much to the delight and entertainment of the peanut gallery, simultaneously ignoring the confused glances North kept sending at them. Aster and Jack had, at some point developed the unspoken agreement that the faces they wore for their friends, while not lies or facades, were a little more boisterous and exaggerated then the faces they shared with each other alone. Thinking about it now, Aster wondered how he’d ever been so blind to the rapport he shared with the younger Guardian. It was a complete failure on his part, and total lack of comprehending his deepest of hearts that Aster still hadn’t forgiven himself for. 

It’s more than just physical exhaustion that’s been dogging his steps of late. Without the fragile hope of seeing Jack’s bright, happy face Aster’s been finding it difficult to maintain the routine the boy had coaxed him into; instead he was finding himself slipping back into bad habits, spending longer and longer hours at work and less and less time at rest. Aster will be the first to admit that his old, workaholic patterns were one of his more reliable, if unhealthy coping mechanisms. He’d done it for centuries after all; he was pretty good at sublimating his pain and frustration into creative productivity.

Ambling slowly through his gate and up the pathway, it takes Aster almost half the distance to his front door to notice the colourful quilt flapping cheerfully at him in the evening breeze from the laundry line. Aster blinks dumbly at the patchwork monstrosity for a minute, trying to figure out how in the blazes the item got from his nest onto the wash line, smelling sweetly of Aster’s favorite lemon soap. It takes his tired brain a few moments and the additional evidence of the recently emptied wash basin left to dry in the sun before he connects the dots. Suddenly, Aster is more awake and alive then he’s felt in weeks, bursting through the door into his burrow and slamming it behind him, pressing his back to the rough wood like he could somehow bar his houseguest from ever leaving. Possibly, he also wants to brace himself against the bitter disappointment when he realizes that he is only dreaming. In the corner behind the table a narrow teenager stands, looking over his shoulder at the other Guardian, back half-turned to the door as he tends to one of the lamps, nimble fingers in the middle of carefully trimming a wick. Aster is nearly overwhelmed with joy when he finds himself staring into eyes the blue of midwinter skies, their owner obviously a little startled by his abrupt entrance, but seeming to be no less glad to see him. Aster feels frozen in place, pinned beneath the warm gaze, unable to speak expect to say Jack’s name in what is little more than a choked exhale.

“Aster.” Jack inclines his head slightly in greeting, turning away from the lamp while taking a couple steps forward and setting the tiny clippers down on the table, eyebrows furrowing a bit as he has a good look at the Pooka before him. Aster melts a bit as the boy speaks, loving the way the boy’s mouth shapes his name, cradling it against his tongue and lips before setting it free into the warm air between them. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself again, I see. What, is the memory loss kicking in already, old man?” Jack’s tone is meant to be playful, but Aster can hear the concerned undercurrents and his heart pounds faster. Jack is here, in his space, fretting about him like a worried lover and the sudden insurgence of unstoppable, vivid _Hope_ steals his words, forcing him to swallow the lump in his throat in order to talk. 

“I’m not so good at that, yeah?” Jack nods in agreement, smile lifting the edges of his lips.

“Yeah you’d think you’d have enough practice at that by now.” Jack steps forward again, turning his body slightly to rest his left hip against the edge of the table still between them, crossing his arms as he settles. Jack is wearing his usual, brown pants, blue hoodie with sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and the perpetual white apron that Aster had so missed seeing him in. “Nothing for it though, I guess. I’ll just have to stick around do it for you.” Jack’s deliberately casual tone belies the gravity of his pronouncement, but Aster doesn’t miss it, nor does he miss the tension in Jack’s shoulders, the only physical sign of Jack’s nervous, the fear of rejection. Aster himself is still rooted in place, shoulder blades pressed tight against the door, hand still on the doorknob and gripping to tightly he figured he was leaving indents in the warm metal.

“You’re decent at that, wouldn’t catch me saying no.” By the time he finishes, Aster has forced himself to relax enough to unclench his hand and make his way around the table. Jack straightens up from his slumped posture as Aster moves right into his space. The boy does not flinch, does not look away, maintaining eye contact the whole time until Aster is pressed to him, the table digging into his lower back just below the knotted apron strings. Jack’s hands are not idle, finding their way to Aster’s shoulder, gently carding through the fur there in a sweet caress that so soft it makes Aster ache. 

“You meant it? I can stay forever?” Jack says, fully sincere, his face so close Aster can feel his cool breath against his whiskered cheeks.”

“Always Jackie, I’d never lie to yeh about that.” Jack makes a hungry little sound at Aster’s pronouncement, pulling him down into an utterly graceless kiss. Aster’s mouth isn’t truly designed for kissing like humans do, but the cool pressure of Jack’s thin lips against his is a pleasure he can’t deny. Jack draws back a little, feeling him out before pressing forward again, giving Aster another sweet kiss, then another, until he is peppering tiny kisses all along Aster’s mouth and muzzle. The boy’s arms are tight about his shoulders, his waist so tiny where Aster’s hands have come to rest that his fingertips can nearly touch around the circumference of it. Jack is a thin, waifish thing in Aster’s arms, like trying to catch snowflakes with your bare hands. Aster barely has to exert any effort at all to lift Jack by the hips, settling him into a seated position on the small kitchen table. Aster had done it mostly to bring Jack closer to his level so the poor boy could come off his toes and give his calves a break, but Jack took it as an entirely different kind of encouragement, instead wrapping deceptively strong thighs around Aster’s hips and pulling the Pooka in close. At the same time as Aster’s hips made contact with Jack’s, the boy took the initiative to tip his head and deepen the kiss. It was messy and awkward as far as kissing went, but Aster loved every second of it, enjoying the newness of the sensations every time their tongues touched. Jack made a little noise in the back of his throat then, something primal and barely human while tightening his legs around Aster’s body and wow, hello Jack’s erection. Aster could admit he wasn’t far behind, so sue him if a little necking turned him on, it’d been a very long time.

“Jack, nest.” Aster managed to grunt out between kisses, his hips already beginning to rock into the other male’s sweet little eddies of motion that set his blood even more on fire. Jack must’ve been enjoying it too because he moaned softly into Aster mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak two words.

“No, here.” Jack grabs him back into the kiss so forcefully Aster grunts and almost losing balance, forced to catch himself with one strong palm on the tabletop by Jack’s left hip. The new angle pushes them even closer together, the warmth between Aster’s thighs blooming into full blown pleasure at the increased contact. Jack moans too, pulling away from Aster’s mouth to pants heavily; head tipping back and hips canting upwards in a steady rhythm. Aster can’t blame him, he’s just a lost to the liquid heat between them, the molten flames set to consume even as Jack’s body temperature fails to rise above room level.

“Jack, nest, now!” The urgency ins Aster’ tone might have been lost to a moan when Jack’s clever hands creep off his shoulders, finding their way through the soft, thick fur of his neck and chest and then around to his back dropping farther until Jack has Aster solidly by his ass, using his tight grip to pull Aster’s hips forward even harder against his own, increasing the speed of their thrusts as his passion increases.

“No, here.” Jack barely manages to gasp past the filthy noises falling from those perfect lips, and Aster’s control is gone for good. Sending a quick prayer to the furniture gods that the table will hold, Aster slides the hand that isn’t currently supporting his bodyweight under Jack’s shirt shoving the blue fabric up to Jack’s armpits, letting his paw-pads catch on dusky pink nipples as he feels the contours of the boy’s thin chest. Jack whimpers a little with it, and Aster makes thorough notes of which patches on skin seem to bring out the best reactions in his new lover. Aster hasn’t the patience to waste a lot of time on foreplay now though, and the wandering hand slips over Jack’s bellybutton to the belt buckle at his waist. It takes some creative one-handed fumbling to get it undone, and then further fumbling to get the ties on the front to give way. When he does finally draw Jack’s weeping length from its confines, the boy nearly sobs with it. 

Aster is too close now, and if the way the boy is thrusting into his loose grip is any indication he is too. Letting go of Jack’s beautiful cock for a moment and ignoring the little cry of dismay from the boy beneath him, Aster uses both hands to yank the pants down skinny legs, kicking them away when they fall to the floor. The Pooka then clambers up onto the table, settling onto his knees between Jack’s still-spread thighs. The boy immediately compensates for the new position, pulling Aster back into his body with both arms and legs and Aster goes willingly, feeling his hard length drag along the little divot between Jack’s hipbone and thigh until he was sliding alongside Jack’s own manhood. The boy let out another unearthly noise that Aster couldn’t wait to hear again, so he wasted no time in reaching down to grip both their lengths, grabbing almost as much of the flapping cotton of jack’s apron as he did flesh. Both Guardians were long past the point of caring, and with Aster working both of them in a large fist it only took moments before each hit his peak, twin cries of ecstasy filling the small kitchen as they rode out their pleasure to the very end. 

It was then that the table, having solidly seen Aster through many a meal, decided to collapse.

The sudden jolt of dropping three feet to packed earth makes Aster groan, tasting a bit of blood in his mouth where’s he’d nipped his tongue by accident on impact. Aster realizes then that he can feel Jack shaking beneath him, and he nearly panics, pulling back to check that Jack wasn’t injured by the fall. Turns out, Jack is laughing. Laughing, with tears on his cheeks, and that somehow worries Aster more than straight up ears would have.

“Jack you ok love?” Jack nods, eyes squeezing shut and head tipping back against the ground as his shoulders continue to shake.

“I’m good.” Jack manages after a minute, tears still leaking from his eyes but his trembling has slowed. “I’m not hurt; it’s just... really good.” Aster nods slowly, feeling like he understands, nuzzling his cold nose into the bit of skin behind Jack’s right earlobe. “Nest now?” Jack murmurs into one of Aster’s long ears and Aster nods into Jack’s neck, slipping his hands underneath the younger spirit to haul him up of the ground, rising to his feet with Jack tucked against him, the winter child’s legs tight about his waist to keep from slipping. 

“Sorry about the table.” Jack mumbles as Aster carries him down the underground hall towards Aster’s bed chambers. The Pooka only grunts in response, not caring one whit about the pile of timber upstairs, not when his Jackie was here, cool and sweet in his arms. They reached the nest and Aster eased them both down into its mossy embrace, helping Jack removed his soiled clothes. The apron appears to have taken the brunt of the damage, so Aster uses it to help mop off whatever mess remained on both their stomachs before chucking it away. 

 

“I’ll replace it.” He mutters, feeling the post-lovemaking lethargy creeping into him, compounded by his earlier exhaustion. He goes to arrange himself next to Jack and instead finds himself dragged down by deceptively strong arms until he’s lying on top of the boy much as he had on the table. Aster would be more concerned about Jack being able to take his weight, but the boy was far hardier then he looked, and he didn’t exactly need to breath so he lets it go, deciding that some affectionate nuzzling and cuddling were better ways to spend his last few conscious moments then worrying was. 

“Aster?” Jack’s think voice breaks the comfortable silence.”

“Mmmm, yeah Jackie.” It’s all Aster can do to stay awake to hear Jack’s question.

“That was fun. A+, for sure.” Aster huffs a tired laugh into Jack’s collarbone and clutches the small body just a bit tighter, sinking closer and closer to the oblivion of sleep with each passing heartbeat.

“Aster?” 

“Mmmhmm?” Fading as fast as Aster was, Jack’s voice seemed to be coming to him from a long distance away.

“I’m definitely not taking your last name.”

If Aster heard Jack’s final quip, Jack didn’t know, the Pooka was already out like a light, deep even breaths pushing into Jack’s ribcage making it move the slightest bit in mockery of real breathing. Jack pulled his lover closer, enjoying the exotic feel for fur against the whole naked length of him. Jack gently stroked one long ear, smiling softly as it twitched a bit at the touch. Sleeping was another thing that Jack’s unique physiology would require, although he enjoyed it sometimes if only out of habit. He usually just stayed up, doing his best work in the deepest hours of night. It was something that would have to change now, like many things would, but Jack was optimistic that things would be ok.

They had an eternity to work out the details, after all.

Jack sighed happily, pulling Aster tighter and dropping a kiss to his forehead before closing his eyes. Now he figured, was a good a time to indulge in a nap as any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, the chapter titles are taken from John Rzeznik's "Always Know Where You Are" from the Treasure Planet soundtrack. Good tune that one, Congrats to Sorasusi who recognized it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to Fanfiction.net, the ROTG Kink Meme and my Dreamwidth Journal


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